Aftershock
by pm153
Summary: Missing scene from the teaser of The Aftermath. HC, some angst.


Aftershock

Drama/General-T

Summary: Missing scene/s from the teaser of The Aftermath. H/C, some angst.

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It's surprisingly relieving when Sandy's face sways in front of him and the room blurs. Instead of being unpleasant and scary and nauseating it's like a weight is being lifted off of his shoulders. He's being forced into sleep and there's nothing he can do about it. He's not a coward for becoming useless during a time of crisis. This escape is completely natural and inevitable.

He's been in some sort of surreal haze since he got up off that apartment floor, using his brother's motionless form to help him rise to his feet once again. His actions, although effective, were done robotically. He can't recall a single thought that ran through his brain as the four of them observed the scene that had unfolded. He was sure Seth and Summer's, and especially Marissa's; brains were working at a mile a minute as they stared at Trey's body in horror. And even while Ryan looked on for the appropriate shock period as well, he wasn't thinking a thing.

He hadn't realized how all of his life experiences had really affected him. He knew now just exactly what purpose his roots served in times like these. Because when his native-Newport friends were still standing in the doorway too stunned to do anything, the Chino boy was flipping his brother's body over and putting pressure on the wound and getting blood all over his hands and screaming to call an ambulance and grabbing the gun and putting the safety back on and knowing to keep his fucking mouth shut when the cops showed up. The four of them shoved into one police car, Ryan in the front, Marissa hyperventilating in the back, squished in there with an equally freaked out Seth and Summer.

It was all instinctual, all an instant reflex. He'd seen guns go off before. He'd pressed his hands up against people's bloody injuries before. He'd been arrested before. None of this was new to him.

This whole experience is weirdly detached. It's like he's been extracted from his body and is simply watching himself from another place. He's moving quickly, tackling the situation, taking charge, and yet it's like he's really here at all.

The adrenaline had at first dulled his throbbing bruises, the ache in his probably broken right arm, the bleeding cuts in his back which he suspected had glass stuck in them, his lungs and brain which were still reeking the effects of the excruciating oxygen deprivation, when he saw his brother's enraged face behind teary eyes and thought how ironically fitting it was that it was Trey who'd be the end of him.

Now all of Ryan's pains are screaming, coming back in full force after having been ignored and put on the side for all the initial chaos. He had been confused when the doctor asked what happened to him and shouted that he needed to be looked at. Surely his injuries couldn't be that bad if he couldn't feel a thing.

Until now that was.

He'd caught sight of Trey's limp form on the gurney and the tubes pouring from his nose and mouth, surrounded by a swarm of ER doctors. And then Seth started talking and Sandy came out of nowhere and as they asked him, Ryan realized that no, he was definitely _not _okay.

So he's grateful when he is suddenly burning up and feels like he's going to vomit and his knees are turning to jelly and he's having trouble breathing. And the room gets even whiter and mixes until it's nothing but a messy blur and he can no longer support himself on two feet. Black spots form behind his eyes as they roll back in his head. And just like that he's no longer in charge because he is now officially incapable. He feels a rush of relief when he hits the cold, hard floor.

Passing out is always the most effective method of avoidance.

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The second Ryan hits the ground, Sandy feels his heart stop in his chest.

The relief that he felt when he entered the ER and saw that both his sons were still standing had been most greatly appreciated and needed.

He had entered the house to a ringing phone. A part of him had been grateful for the immediate distraction, so he would not have to think about Kirsten's painful absence the second he got home. However, that gratitude had dissipated when he heard Seth's panicked voice on the other line. Sandy could barley process what his son was saying, but the second he heard words including Ryan, Trey, Marissa, fight, gun, hospital, and police, he was right back out the door. It was a miracle he hadn't got pulled over driving like a maniac on the way to the hospital. He had parked his in an illegal spot closest to the ER entrance, where his car was bound to get towed. But Sandy couldn't care less. He had to get his kids. He had to make sure his boys were okay.

And now one of them wasn't.

"Ryan!" Sandy exclaims, more out of shock than worry, immediately rushing over and kneeling on the floor next to his unconscious son.

He carefully flips Ryan over onto his back, wincing at myriad of fresh bruises and cuts on his face, and desperately shakes his shoulder in a feeble attempt to wake him.

"Ryan. Ryan!"

"Dad?"

He quickly glances around and sees Seth standing there, wringing his shirt in his hands, looking stunned and terrified. He hears Marissa crying and shrieking somewhere in the background.

Sandy glances back down at Ryan, who is still lying there, unmoving, eyes closed, dead to the world. He places a hand on Ryan's forehead and finds his skin clammy and freezing.

"Hey! Hey, can I get some help over here?!" he calls out desperately, both surprised and relieved at how fast his request his tended to. He stands back as three pairs of hands lift Ryan from the floor and onto a gurney.

It's slightly unnerving to see strangers surrounding his son, poking and prodding him and shouting out numbers and instructions that Sandy doesn't understand.

Hell, who is he kidding? It's absolutely terrifying.

"BP is 100 over 60," one doctor remarks.

He senses someone stepping behind him and in his peripheral vision he can see Seth creeping up behind him, his eyes wide in shock and fear.

"What's wrong with him? Is he gonna be okay?" Seth asks, his voice cracking.

Sandy wants to tell his son to shut his mouth and let the doctors work, but he can't berate Seth for wanting answers. Standing here, seeing Ryan like this is the most helpless he's ever felt in his life. He keeps his eyes glued on Ryan even amidst all the medical chaos around them. A lump forms in Sandy's throat as he continues to stare down at his son's sickly appearance, his face sheet-white, his lips tinged blue.

Oh god, blue lips were definitely not a good sign.

"Respirations shallow at 28."

Sandy doesn't have to be a doctor to know that Ryan is not breathing enough. Way too much time is passing between each rise and fall of his chest. A doctor puts an oxygen mask over Ryan's nose and mouth and Sandy feels his heart twist at the sight.

"Are you his father?"

"Yes," he answers without a second's hesitation.

A doctor nods to one of his colleagues and some silent medical code is exchanged as they begin wheeling Ryan away.

"What's going on? Is he gonna be alright?" Sandy asks, trying not to sound too panicked as he keeps up with the gurney.

"He's in shock, someone will be out in a minute to talk to you."

Sandy opens his mouth in protest. A minute isn't good enough. He needs to know what's going on now. He has to know if Ryan's okay. He's failed that kid enough. He's not gonna do it again.

But his attempts are futile, his requests worthless. And Sandy can do nothing as another one of his family members goes away and he is again left alone in an empty hallway.

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Ryan feels the blissful oblivion of sleep start to drift away from him. Slowly he feels himself coming back into the world and as much as he tries to fight it, he knows the return is inevitable.

He blinks, trying to clear his fuzzy vision and foggy brain. It's taking entirely too long for him to wake up. The lights above him are blinding. Why are the lights on if he's sleeping? He's not in the poolhouse that's for sure.

He feels a swell of panic rise in his chest at not knowing his location. Something is wrong.

A warm hand on his shoulder eases his fidgeting.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, kid, you're okay."

He blinks again, trying to make clear of the blurry outlines surrounding the figure in front of him.

"Sandy?" he whispers hoarsely.

Sandy winces at the sound of Ryan's raspy voice. Dark ugly finger-shaped bruises have already begun to form around his neck. Another tidbit of evidence of what exactly had gone down in that apartment, another detail that Sandy would rather not be privy too.

"Yeah, it's me," he says, squeezing Ryan's shoulder assuredly.

"What happened?"

"You kinda hit the deck in the emergency room, caused a little bit of chaos. But don't worry, it was all very eventful."

Ryan still looks confused. "What?"

Sandy eases up on the sarcasm, realizing his son is still way too disoriented for any form of Cohen humor. "You fainted," he says gently.

"Oh." Ryan blows out a puff of air flopping back down onto the pillows, glancing around slowly. The hospital gown and medical paraphernalia surrounding his body are enough for him to understand he obviously isn't in good shape.

"Everything okay?" he rasps and Sandy tries not to grimace every time he hears that sore voice.

"You have a concussion so they're keeping you overnight. Your wrist is broken, they're gonna put a hard cast on it sometime tomorrow."

Ryan glances down at his right arm, noticing the ace bandage for the first time.

Sandy continues to rattle off the list of Ryan's injuries, repeating what exactly the doctor had told him in the waiting room, as if he had been reading a shopping list and not telling Sandy a million different things that was wrong with his son.

Ryan shifts uncomfortably in the bed, reminding Sandy of yet another injury he failed to mention.

"They had to stitch up some cuts in your back because..."

"Because of the glass, yeah, I got it," Ryan finishes quickly, closing his eyes and struggling to take a deep breath. From his interruption, Sandy can tell the kid obviously does not want to talk about the origin of his injuries at all.

"What about this?" Ryan inquires pointing to the thin tube coming out of his nose.

"You were having breathing so they put you on oxygen to help you out," Sandy explains quickly. Ryan raises an eyebrow at him in typical Atwood function that says without saying that he clearly does not approve of the machinery that has been shoved up his nose. "It's helping," Sandy reassures him.

Ryan rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything else, sliding into a state of silent reflection. He's still trying to get his thoughts together and figure out what exactly happened to land him in here. Sandy can literally see the pieces click on Ryan's brain as his confused expression turns grim. He remembers now.

"Is Trey...?"

Sandy sighs. "Well, he made it through surgery, but he's still in ICU."

Ryan nods, his expression unreadable as usual. If Sandy had a nickel every time he wished he could see what was going on in this kid's head, he'd be as rich as Caleb 10 times over.

Sandy leans in closer, his voice gentle. "They're not sure when he's gonna wake up. He lost a lot of blood, Ryan."

"But he's alive," Ryan mutters in a tone that gives away nothing. Sandy's not sure if Ryan considers Trey being alive a good thing or a bad thing.

Seth had given him the full story when they were waiting for Ryan to wake up. He had felt a little sick once his son had finished the tale. And a lot guilty. He knew Trey's adjustment into Newport had been difficult, and that things between him and Ryan were a little rocky after the yard sale, but after the whole drug fiasco had been solved and Trey moved back into his apartment, everything appeared to be fine. Sandy had no idea if there was anything going on between Ryan and Trey, let alone Trey and Marissa. He had been too concerned about Kirsten's further descent down a vodka bottle to pay attention to anything else going on his family.

_"Trey was killing Ryan, Dad. Marissa shot him to save Ryan's life."_

When he had been dropping off his alcoholic wife at rehab, his son had been dying.

That fact has been plaguing Sandy for the past four hours, while he stared at his motionless son. _Trey was killing Ryan_. If Marissa had been a minute slower she could have been too late. Trey might have actually murdered his brother in his fit of misguided rage.

And just like that, there'd be no more Ryan and their lives would be ruined.

It's that thought that has kept Sandy planted at his son's bedside this whole time. He had been terrified in the ER when Ryan went down and even more scared when he had been whisked off to the medical unknown, leaving Sandy standing alone in the hospital hallway, feeling completely and utterly useless.

"What about Marissa?" Ryan asks suddenly, jolting Sandy from his reverie.

"Well, the police took her down to the station..."

"What?!" Ryan exclaims, jerking up into a sitting position way too quickly. His head swims from the sudden movement and the light-headed feeling from earlier returns, his vision going white once more...

"Ryan, Ryan..."

Sandy's voice drowns in his ears and he feels himself being lowered back down into the bed.

"Relax, kid, you're hurt, you need to rest."

"Sorry," he mumbles.

Sandy sighs. "They took Marissa down to the station to ask some questions and get her statement. She wasn't under arrest, it didn't take long, she's back home now."

"Is she okay?"

Sandy fights the urge to shake his head. Only Ryan Atwood could be laying in a hospital, hooked up to tubes and other daunting medical machinery, and be more concerned about someone else's well being.

"A little shaken up like I'm sure all you kids are, but Jimmy and Julie are taking good care of her," he reassures and watches as his son relaxes slightly. "And if it makes you feel any better, you're looking about ten times worse than Marissa was."

A hint of a smirk appears on Ryan's face. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel any better," he says, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing his temples.

Sandy frowns. Ryan admitting he's not feeling well is the equivalent to admitting excruciating unbearable pain. He studies his son's haggard appearance. His skin is no longer the shocking white it had been in the emergency room, but he is still way too pale. His bruises are becoming more vivid and painful-looking with time.

"Why don't you try to going back to sleep, okay?"

Ryan nods, seeming to be grateful for the suggestion, as if someone else saying it makes it easier than confessing his own hurt.

He shifts in bed, finding a relatively comfortable position before closing his eyes. Sandy watches for a few minutes as his breathing evens out, although there is some wheezing that comes with nearly being choked to death.

Sandy doesn't know what urges him to say the next words, especially now when Ryan is nearly asleep and relaxed, but they come pouring out anyway.

He leans over to speak softly in Ryan's ear.

"Not now, but when you're rested and feeling better, we're going to talk about this."

Ryan's eyes pop open. "There's nothing to talk about," he says quietly, his voice taking on that guarded tone that reminds Sandy of when he first came to live with them. When he was so young and broken and still so afraid that one day they would change their minds and throw him out on the streets.

"Ryan..."

"It's over now. We'll deal with the police and move on with our lives," Ryan mumbles, fiddling with the IV taped to his hand, not daring to meet his foster father's eyes.

An exasperated sigh leaves Sandy's lips. He knows it's rude and probably just made Ryan feel even worse than he already does, but he can't help it.

It's frustrating.

It's frustrating to watch Ryan fold into himself yet again. To watch as he buries his heartbreak somewhere deep within him to join rest of the sadness that's plagued him all his life. When will he learn that shutting everything off doesn't make it go away? When will he learn that letting his emotions eat him up inside just makes it all a million times worse?

He briefly wonders what Dawn would think of him and Kirsten now, knowing that under their supervision, not one, but both of her children have landed in the hospital. One more physically and emotionally damaged than he's willing to admit. The other in Intensive Care, barley clinging to his life.

An odd feeling of guilt washes over Sandy knowing that Trey is laying in a coma a few floors above them with no one at his side. But then he remembers what exactly Trey could have accomplished tonight and the feeling disappears instantly.

He doesn't want to think about what was going through Ryan's mind when he stormed off tonight. He doesn't want to think of the exact reason why Seth and Summer and Marissa had rushed over there so fast. He doesn't want to think that Ryan could actually have the ability to kill somewhere within him.

"I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up if Trey dies or something," Ryan mutters bitterly, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side.

Sandy won't tell Ryan, but he's gonna go check with Trey's doctors in a little while once Ryan is settled. He prays like hell that Trey doesn't die. Because he knows that even in his state of blind anger, Ryan would have regretted for the rest of his life if he had accomplished what he set out to do at that apartment.

"I'm not trying to piss you off, kid. I'm just trying to be honest with you."

Ryan's eyes are closed but Sandy can tell he's listening.

He always listens.

Sandy reaches forward and brushes Ryan's hair back, probably the most parental gesture he's ever shared with him.

Ryan jerks his head away and rolls over to his opposite side, facing away from his foster father purposely.

But it doesn't stop Sandy's gestures of affection. He places a gentle hand on Ryan's back. He feels Ryan tense up underneath his touch but he doesn't pull away this time.

"I only want what's best for you, Ryan. That's all I ever want. You may think that if you can force yourself to forget about this that it will all hurt less. Well, I've got news for you, it won't."

Sandy can hear Ryan's breathing become shallower, he can feel him continuing to tense underneath his hand. He leans in closer to his son, lowering his voice even though no one else can hear them, because these words are meant for Ryan's ears only.

"It's okay to hurt sometimes, Ryan. You're allowed to feel something other than anger. It doesn't make you any weaker than the rest of us. It doesn't make you any less of a person."

A few moments pass and nothing else is said. The room is silent aside from the raspy sound of Ryan's strained breathing. He eventually rolls over onto his back and looks up at Sandy. And for the first time Sandy can actually see the raw emotion in the kid's face at the heaviness of the situation.

"Ryan," he begins gently.

Ryan closes his eyes and takes a deep shuddering breath.

"Ryan."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Ryan spits out suddenly and Sandy immediately shuts his mouth. "I'm sorry that I lost my temper, I'm sorry that Marissa had to end it. I'm sorry that Caleb's dead and Trey's gonna die and Kirsten can't handle anything. I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to do." His voice cracks as he finishes and he shuts his eyes again, if only to spare himself from Sandy's reaction to seeing him this way.

Sandy sits back, digesting it all. His words had obviously hit a nerve. And it's unnerving but also oddly refreshing to see Ryan this vulnerable for once. _This is the first step_, he tells himself. He looks over to where Ryan has his hand covering his eyes and wonders if he's crying and trying to hide it. Gently, he removes Ryan's hand from his face. There are no tears. Not yet anyway. But Sandy can see the glassy film covering his blue orbs. He places a hand on his son's shaking arm.

"I'm sorry," Ryan whispers again.

"I know," Sandy soothes. "I know, it's okay, it's not your fault, it's not your fault." He pushes back Ryan's bangs and lets his hand linger on his forehead, relieved when he doesn't pull away this time. He can feel Ryan trembling beneath his touch.

They sit there quietly for a few minutes. There's so much Sandy can say, Ryan's unfounded apology is swirling around his brain. But somehow words don't seem appropriate at the moment. Ryan had given him something, it's only fair that he repay him with silence.

"I'm tired, Sandy.," Ryan slurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion, his eyelids drooping.

Sandy pulls the blankets further up around his son, tucking him in carefully like he used to do with Seth when he was a little boy and like he had never gotten to with Ryan.

"Get some rest, kid, we'll talk tomorrow."

Sandy remains sitting at the side of the bed, his eyes glued on his son. He watches as Ryan visibly begins to relax, his breathing evening out and tapering off as he slowly but surely falls back asleep.

Fin.


End file.
